spatha lodged in his back and his blonde hair dripping red. Felix ripped the weapon from the corpse.
‘Get down,’ Avitus growled, yanking the optio under cover just as a volley of arrows sclaffed off their shields. Pinned down, they glanced in hope at the edge of both towers — no reinforcements yet. But now the wall-guard had raced to the scene of the incident. Seven of them.
‘Push up or we’re dead!’ Gallus barked pointing to the narrow section of battlement still with covering parapet on both the inside and outside.
Avitus locked shields with his centurion and they raced forward, butting into the midriffs of the Goths, who stumbled backwards. Felix crouched between them; the narrow battlement meant their flank would be safe, but the weight of Gothic numbers would quickly tell, pushing them back out into the hail of arrows.
‘Be ready, Felix,’ Gallus panted.
Felix braced as two huge axe-bearers charged at them. Two crashing blows rained on the mini shield wall, sending the Romans staggering backwards. Then, as the giants swung their weapons again, Avitus and Gallus lifted their shields apart for Felix to lurch out, a spatha in each hand, thrusting them into the ribcages of their attackers. The Goths staggered backwards, gurgling and then toppling onto the courtyard of the fort. A thud sounded from the other end of the battlements and the remaining five Goths on the wall spun to the source; Roman reinforcements. The wall guards wavered, every moment seeing more Romans pour onto the walls behind the shielded trio. One barked an order and they turned and fled down the ladders to their mustering kinsmen in the courtyard below.
Felix grinned at his centurion — the wall was theirs! But Gallus nodded briskly to the rope.
‘Ready?’ The centurion hissed.
Felix risked a glance at the end, dangling in the courtyard below; surrounded by the swell of Goths. ‘Oh right, forgot about this bit. Great,’ he spat, taking up the rope.
Gallus cupped his hands to his mouth and let out another double whistle. A rumbling grew from the rocks where they had hidden moments before.
A wrap of
plumbatae
came crashing over the wall on either side and the legionaries distributed the lead weighted darts among their number. Each legionary took his plumbata at the ready.
‘Let ‘em have it!’ Gallus roared.
Felix watched the volley of darts rain down, sinking into the Gothic front line and driving back their swell from the end of the rope. He mouthed a silent prayer to Mithras and leapt from the battlement, his palms searing as he descended the rope. The Goths watched in an impotent fury, their eyes sparkling with rage behind their shield wall as the optio slipped down onto the courtyard. Felix felt his limbs turn to jelly as he slapped onto the flagstones just as the rattle of plumbatae stopped like a spent hailstorm. He glanced up to see Gallus, wide eyed, holding his plumbata-free arms out in apology.
The Gothic commander stood tall and pointed his sword tip down at Felix, face torn in rage. ‘Charge!’
Felix, wide-eyed, scrambled for the main gate, scraping in the darkness for the bolt.
‘Gut him like a pig!’ The Gothic commander screamed as his men poured forward.
Felix winced as he tore open his hand pulling at the wrong end of the bolt. He felt the earth rumble as the roaring Goths raced at his unprotected back, hearing even the intake of breath as they drew back their swords to strike. Then the bolt chunked free.
He rolled out into the night and the Gothic warriors tumbled out behind him. Utterly disoriented, he scrambled up to his feet.
‘Duck!’ Growled a familiar voice, cut off by the twang of a scorpion bolt.
Collapsing instinctively, Felix felt his hair parting under the slipstream of the iron bolt as it whipped over his head and sunk into the Gothic pack just emerging from the fort gates. Felix blinked up at Quadratus, his blonde moustache raised as he grinned from behind the makeshift
‘Get down,’ Avitus growled, yanking the optio under cover just as a volley of arrows sclaffed off their shields. Pinned down, they glanced in hope at the edge of both towers — no reinforcements yet. But now the wall-guard had raced to the scene of the incident. Seven of them.
‘Push up or we’re dead!’ Gallus barked pointing to the narrow section of battlement still with covering parapet on both the inside and outside.
Avitus locked shields with his centurion and they raced forward, butting into the midriffs of the Goths, who stumbled backwards. Felix crouched between them; the narrow battlement meant their flank would be safe, but the weight of Gothic numbers would quickly tell, pushing them back out into the hail of arrows.
‘Be ready, Felix,’ Gallus panted.
Felix braced as two huge axe-bearers charged at them. Two crashing blows rained on the mini shield wall, sending the Romans staggering backwards. Then, as the giants swung their weapons again, Avitus and Gallus lifted their shields apart for Felix to lurch out, a spatha in each hand, thrusting them into the ribcages of their attackers. The Goths staggered backwards, gurgling and then toppling onto the courtyard of the fort. A thud sounded from the other end of the battlements and the remaining five Goths on the wall spun to the source; Roman reinforcements. The wall guards wavered, every moment seeing more Romans pour onto the walls behind the shielded trio. One barked an order and they turned and fled down the ladders to their mustering kinsmen in the courtyard below.
Felix grinned at his centurion — the wall was theirs! But Gallus nodded briskly to the rope.
‘Ready?’ The centurion hissed.
Felix risked a glance at the end, dangling in the courtyard below; surrounded by the swell of Goths. ‘Oh right, forgot about this bit. Great,’ he spat, taking up the rope.
Gallus cupped his hands to his mouth and let out another double whistle. A rumbling grew from the rocks where they had hidden moments before.
A wrap of
plumbatae
came crashing over the wall on either side and the legionaries distributed the lead weighted darts among their number. Each legionary took his plumbata at the ready.
‘Let ‘em have it!’ Gallus roared.
Felix watched the volley of darts rain down, sinking into the Gothic front line and driving back their swell from the end of the rope. He mouthed a silent prayer to Mithras and leapt from the battlement, his palms searing as he descended the rope. The Goths watched in an impotent fury, their eyes sparkling with rage behind their shield wall as the optio slipped down onto the courtyard. Felix felt his limbs turn to jelly as he slapped onto the flagstones just as the rattle of plumbatae stopped like a spent hailstorm. He glanced up to see Gallus, wide eyed, holding his plumbata-free arms out in apology.
The Gothic commander stood tall and pointed his sword tip down at Felix, face torn in rage. ‘Charge!’
Felix, wide-eyed, scrambled for the main gate, scraping in the darkness for the bolt.
‘Gut him like a pig!’ The Gothic commander screamed as his men poured forward.
Felix winced as he tore open his hand pulling at the wrong end of the bolt. He felt the earth rumble as the roaring Goths raced at his unprotected back, hearing even the intake of breath as they drew back their swords to strike. Then the bolt chunked free.
He rolled out into the night and the Gothic warriors tumbled out behind him. Utterly disoriented, he scrambled up to his feet.
‘Duck!’ Growled a familiar voice, cut off by the twang of a scorpion bolt.
Collapsing instinctively, Felix felt his hair parting under the slipstream of the iron bolt as it whipped over his head and sunk into the Gothic pack just emerging from the fort gates. Felix blinked up at Quadratus, his blonde moustache raised as he grinned from behind the makeshift
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